


limitless

by Aubrelin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (kind of), Adopted Sibling Relationship, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Basically everyone lives on the street, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Limitless MV, It's hard, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Other, POV Multiple, Prison, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smoking, Taeyong takes care of everyone, broken relationships, everyone is hurting, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubrelin/pseuds/Aubrelin
Summary: There's never enough food for everyone, the sheets are always damp, you don't want to know what we have to do for money and it gets damn cold in the winter, but at least out here, when people say they care, they mean it. That doesn't mean it's easy, though. It's not.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Huang Ren Jun, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Taeyong, Moon Taeil/Nakamoto Yuta, OT21 - Relationship, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun, multiple ships implied
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please be warned that this story contains elements that may be upsetting to some people, so please read at your own discretion. Most scenes aren't very graphic, but a lot of violence and abuse is implied.
> 
> I started planning this story some months ago, which is why it's OT21. The story is now complete, though if people like it, I am considering writing more in this verse, which will include everyone.
> 
> Please don't forget to subscribe if you like it! :)

"Here, there there. It's alright. Take a deep breath— oh—"

"Sorry..."

"No, don't worry about it. Err... here."

A towel was pushed in his direction and he used it to wipe his mouth. It smelled of old clothes and Yuta's stomach churned with refreshed nausea. He spat onto the ground in an attempt to get rid of the remaining taste. The other boy — he looked no older than Yuta himself — attempted to wipe the vomit off his shoes. Yuta handed him back the towel, wondering where it had come from in the first place, so he could use that. It didn't do his jeans much good, though.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked.

"Fine," Yuta replied. The word was a meaningless statement that he was sure the boy would interpret correctly as a warning against asking on. Suddenly the boy's hand was on Yuta's forehead, pushing back his sweaty hair. Yuta pulled back.

"Sorry."

"Do I know you?" Yuta asked. Who the hell was this stranger fussing over him? And why was he? Where had he even come from? Yuta had come out here exactly for the reason that it had looked utterly uninhabited, and as far as he knew — and remembered through his intoxicated haze — he hadn't passed any houses or homes. Well, that left but one option.

"No," the boy replied. He sounded less certain now, like there was some sort of shame in admitting they were strangers after he'd had his hands all over Yuta. Good, he was starting to realise how weird this was. "My name's Taeyong. Yours?"

"Yuta," he replied. He straightened himself up, though not without difficulty. Taeyong's hands reached in his direction again, though they hesitated mid air, then retreated when Yuta managed to find his balance without any help. See. He was fine. He was _fucking fine_. And he was leaving. "Sorry about the—"

"Hey, where are you going?" Taeyong asked. Yuta wondered why he sounded like a child who'd just had his ice cream taken away from in front of his nose.

"What's it to you?" Yuta asked, coldly. "I didn't come out here to chat with a—" street kid.

"Then what did you come here for?" Taeyong asked.

Yuta didn't feel like he owed Taeyong an answer, so he walked. "Sorry about your shoes." His vision spun and his stomach was protesting severely, but it shouldn't be much further now. And then it'd all be over.

Taeyong's hand was around his upper arm, pulling him back. "No."

At the sudden determination in Taeyong's voice, a chill shot through Yuta's body. Yuta didn't need to ask. This boy — whoever the hell he was — knew exactly what Yuta had come here to do. Such an intimate intention... So private and personal. And yet here was a stranger who _knew_. He yanked on his arm, but Taeyong's grip tightened.

"I won't let you."

"What's it to you?!" Yuta found himself yelling. He wasn't sure where the anger had come from, but then he realised it had been there all along. It had been there for years, not quite asleep, not quite awake. But it had started roaring tonight. "What's it to you if I live or not?! I don't fucking know you, do I?"

Taeyong let out a weird noise at those words and then Yuta felt himself be physically pulled back by the hand around his arm, now desperate enough to leave bruises. "Come back with me. I'll make you something to drink — tea. And then you can get some rest and we'll see how you feel tomorrow, alright?"

"The hell, man," Yuta said, yanking his arm free. "What's wrong with you?" But something inside him had calmed down a little. Just a little.

Taeyong let out a strange bitter laugh, was silent for a moment, and then sighed. His eyes were big, Yuta noticed. "Please?"

Now Yuta fell silent. He felt sick, and hurt, and sick of being hurt. He felt weak and the events of the night — and his entire life — were playing out in his mind on an endless loop.

"It's alright," Taeyong said, and Yuta couldn't remember those words ever having sounded so soft before. His heart ached and then his eyes felt hot and his throat tense. It was stupid how that happened. It made very little sense when the last time Yuta had cried was so long ago he'd forgotten what crying felt like. Terrifying. It felt terrifying. "It's really alright," Taeyong repeated. "Whatever happened. Whatever got you here."

"How do you know? You don't know anything," Yuta stated bitterly, feeling childish, and wanting nothing more than to be contradicted. Oh god. He was drunk. He was really very drunk. What was he doing here? What had he been thinking? Why was he talking to a stranger in the middle of fuckwhere, between an unkempt patch of grass and an unevenly concreted wasteland.

"I don't know, but if I tell you you never have to go back to wherever it was you came from, how does that make you feel?"

Yuta was silent for a moment. He felt perplexed, in fact. It was probably a trap, he thought. He was probably going to regret going along with this, when he found himself in a ditch, high and beaten up. But the question had but one true answer. "That sounds good."

"Alright," Taeyong said. "Come on then, I'll show you home." With a nod of his head he told Yuta to follow.

That's how it began. Or how it ended. It depended on the day, really, which word fit best.


	2. the golden monkey

Rough hands traced down his shoulders. It was an almost gentle touch, but Xiaojun knew better than to be fooled by it. Men were like this; they played romance, then they committed passionate rape and called it love. Xiaojun tilted his head, licked his lips and silently waited for the man to let him know what it was he wanted. Some men were straightforward and would simply tell him, other's implied it, some were too scared to do either. Xiaojun hoped this guy wasn't one of the latter category, he was quite fed up watching internal struggles in middle aged men and having to tell them not to be embarrassed. It was hard to tell men that, when they were spending their money — often hard earned money — on a used whore like himself. But he ended up telling them just that most nights.

"Hmmm... So pretty..." the man hummed. His breath smelled of alcohol. Xiaojun remembered when he'd made it a rule not to fuck them drunk, but he'd quickly realised most of the men approaching him were drunk, so he'd given up on that rule soon enough. And on the no kissing rule too, when it turned out he never got a chance to tell them no before they'd have him captured against a wall. And after it had already happened Xiaojun could no longer tell them he didn't actually do kissing. That'd just make him look weak— he  _ was  _ weak, he was born weak — and he was scared of looking too weak when these men might bite if they realised the extent of the power they held over him.

The man's breath was getting heavier. Xiaojun tried not to hear it. That was the key to all this. Try not to hear it, try not to see it, try not to feel it. That's how he survived most nights. And by the end of it he'd get to count his money. Soon he might even save up enough for— Well, he wasn't entirely sure what he was saving up for. Most of his money went to food, and alcohol, and cigarettes.

"Take off the rest of your clothes," the man said. Xiaojun was almost relieved to hear it. He was quite fed up. Xiaojun tried to take his time as he unzipped his pants and pushed them down, but he'd done this too many times before and it was hard to feel anything but a strong need to get it over with. The truth was that most of these guys didn't even notice. They saw what they wanted to see, and Xiaojun was fine with that. It made his life a whole lot easier, anyway.

The man's hands traced Xiaojun's hips. Warm, sweaty hands. Xiaojun stepped out of his pants and underwear.

"Baby," the man said, his voice lower and quieter than before, veining some sort of intimacy. "Why aren't you hard?" Not this again... It was much easier when they didn't notice or didn't care.

Xiaojun giggled, then turned his gaze away, veining embarrassment. "Don't you know? That's only something  _ real _ men get to do..."

The man looked at him a moment, as if Xiaojun's words came as some sort of surprise to him, but when he'd thought them through he realised he liked the sound of them. Of course he did, Xiaojun thought. They always did. "That's true," he said, with far more confidence than he should rightly have after having been fed this concept for the first just now. Xiaojun smiled. "You're not a real man... You're basically just a pretty little toy, aren't you?" The man's hand was on Xiaojun's lower back, pulling him in. Xiaojun felt the buttons of the man's shirt poke into the skin of his stomach and chest.

"That's right," Xiaojun confirmed.

The man seemed delighted with that. They were close enough to make focusing on the man's expression hard, but his elevated breathing gave it away. "I want to show you my cum."

"Please..." Xiaojun breathed. The hardest thing about this wasn't the memory of the men who fucked him, the men who called him names, treated him badly, or decently, or anything in between. The hardest part was remembering himself in these moments and wondering how those words could have come out of his mouth, how he could have lied there moaning out a stranger's name while thinking only of being alone and safe somewhere far away from the man on top of him.

"Get on the bed and spread your legs, baby."

Xiaojun pushed himself away from the man and stepped back towards the bed. They were in a hotel room tonight, which beat alleyways and the backseat of most cars.

He lied down on his back, like he'd been instructed, and spread his legs. He remembered when this used to make him nervous. He used to find it near impossible to control the slight tremble in his thighs as he exposed himself. Now it had become second nature and he hardly thought about it at all anymore.

The man was heavy enough for the weight on the bed to shift when he crawled on top of Xiaojun after he'd rid himself of his own clothes. Xiaojun would have preferred it if he'd kept them on, but some men liked it this way, and Xiaojun supposed he'd have to deal with the sensation of damp chest hair against his own skin. He'd try not to think about it.

Hands ran up and down Xiaojun's body, no doubtfully feeling the structure of his bones beneath his skin. Sometimes Xiaojun wished he wasn't as small as he was. It brought in money, but when you did this sort of thing you risked all kinds of shit. Any one of these guys could strangle him without much of a struggle and they'd get away with it too. It happened. Xiaojun knew it happened. For no goddamn reason.

The man's hand was between them, pumping himself a few times. The movement was accompanied by more huffs and moans. Xiaojun liked it better when they were silent, but he didn't so much as imply it. Instead he smiled shyly and looked up at the man now he still could. It always became impossible when they were inside of him. "What are you waiting for? Give it to me... Please..." Get it over with. Please.

They were never careful. They were never gentle going in. It was as if at that point they would truly forget Xiaojun was another human being, with feelings and everything. Xiaojun could forgive them, as he felt quite the same.

He bit his lower lip at the sensation and shut his eyes against the pain. Would he ever get used to the sensation? How many more nights before he'd stop feeling it? Or was this the curse he had to bear? A constant reminder of what he'd chosen to do with his life. Either way, he turned his cry into a moan of pleasure easily enough.

What was he doing? What the hell was he doing this for? His insides were hurting, his eyes were watering, and somewhere inside him a little boy was asking him how he could have done this to him.

He smoked two cigarettes on his way back, just to have something to do that wasn't thinking. The sun was rising, colouring the sky an empty blue. He used to like mornings, but that was a long time ago. Looking back, nothing much still made sense. He no longer knew the kind of life he used to live.

The scenery changed, from the rural outskirts of the city to the uninviting industrial streets of home. He kicked a stone and watched it shoot across the concrete, while he contemplated a third cigarette.

Taeyong was outside, hanging a few items of dripping wet clothing over the line that span from the drainpipe to the broken street lamp. Xiaojun didn't recognise the clothes. "Hey," he said. "You're up early." Not that it was particularly uncommon for Taeyong to be up at five thirty.

Taeyong turned to look at him and then his expression softened. "You're back," he said.

"Of course I'm back," Xiaojun retorted. He wished Taeyong would stop feeling surprised every time Xiaojun returned from a night in the city. Taeyong stepped towards him, eyes looking Xiaojun over, checking for bruises or marks. Only when he'd verified he couldn't find any injuries did he relax further. Xiaojun rolled his eyes — though couldn't deny the flutter in his stomach, which terrified him — then stepped past Taeyong towards the warehouse they called their home.

"I'll make you something to eat," Taeyong said. "And then you should get some sleep. And tomorrow—"

"You can't stop me," Xiaojun said, before Taeyong could complete the rest of his sentence. Xiaojun noticed the bitter taste in the aftermath of his own snapping reply. It had something to do with the tension in Taeyong's shoulders. He didn't want to hurt him, but Xiaojun hardly had a choice.

"I'll make you something to eat."

"Alright..."

***

"Who's the new guy?" Haechan asked. "I wanted to ask him, but he was busy throwing up. I guess someone will have to go empty the bucket in a sec. Anyway, he looked like a ghost."

"A ghost?" Xiaojun asked, eyes shifting between Haechan and Taeyong. He'd had a few hours of sleep, but nothing that constituted to much. It hadn't gotten rid of the exhaustion that seemed to have made its home in Xiaojun's bones. Either way, he hadn't noticed a newcomer.

"I found him last night, across the street," Taeyong explained

"Ah," Haechan replied. "Another one of those. Maybe Doyoung hyung will talk to this one."

"Hey," Taeyong said, with warning in his voice. "Be nice."

"What's it to anyone?" Haechan asked. He reached forward to take a biscuit from the metal tin in the middle of the dining table. "He's not even here, is he? I haven't seen him for days."

"He was here yesterday," Taeyong said.

"Oh. For money?" Haechan asked, his voice darkening. "Did you give him any? He can't decide not to be a part of us  _ and _ take our money. That's fucked up."

"It's my money," Taeyong corrected off-handedly. "And he is part of us. And you shouldn't swear."

Haechan shrugged, but then let it go and turned his attention to Xiaojun. "I didn't notice you come back last night, by the way."

"I only came back this morning," Xiaojun replied.

"Any luck?"

Xiaojun hadn't told them what it was he did, but Xiaojun knew some of them knew, and some of them probably knew without Xiaojun knowing they knew. Haechan fell either in the latter category, or he simply didn't know where Xiaojun got his money from and hadn't reasoned the obvious.

"Yeah," Xiaojun replied. "I made double of usual." The ones renting hotel rooms always did. Alleyway men paid the least, and those asking for blowjobs in the comfort of their trashed cars were little better, but every so often they'd at least have the decency of offering him a lift after, which saved him from having to walk all the way. (He wasn't dumb enough to give them directions all the way to the warehouse, but every little bit counted.)

"I was thinking," Haechan said. "The motorbike—"

"It's broken," Xiaojun replied.

"With a bit of money..." Haechan started, leaving the rest of his sentence open for easy interpretation.

Xiaojun turned to look at Taeyong. It was a subconscious habit he'd picked up, whenever he found himself in uncomfortable situations. Even after all this time he still looked at others to help him out. He huffed quietly at his own incompetence, then returned his gaze back to Haechan. Taeyong was busy washing some cups and plates in a layer of water in the metal sink. Xiaojun figured it was another one of those things they'd found or picked up along the way, before Xiaojun had ended up here. They'd found or stolen pretty much all they had here, like the beds and mattresses — still too few of them, but they made do — and the tables, chairs, clothes. And the damn motorbike.

"What do we need a motorbike for?" Xiaojun asked. "It's a waste of money. All the gas you have to throw in."

Haechan pulled a pouty face at those words. "But think of all the time we'd save fucking around—"

"Language," Taeyong stated, while scrubbing one of the pans clean.

"Pissing around."

"How'd you even pay me back? It's not like you're making any." Xiaojun asked.

"That's against the rules," Haechan said and Xiaojun nearly rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy of that statement. Apparently the rules only applied to Haechan when they benefited him. "Ask hyung."

"I know," Xiaojun replied. "But it's hardly going to be of much use to me. I don't have a licence and unlike some, I do try to avoid jail when I can help it."

"Oh, really?" Haechan asked, raising his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"When I can help it, I said," Xiaojun repeated, his teeth gritted. He was pretty sure he knew what Haechan was getting at, and he didn't like it much. He didn't like when people underestimated him, especially not when they thought he was stupid. He wasn't stupid. He picked the streets he knew weren't patrolled. And he knew when to run, and how to run fast. At the first rumour of nearby police, he was gone.

"How much is a license?" Haechan asked.

"Don't know," Xiaojun replied. "Too much, I imagine."

"Well, Johnny hyung has a license."

"Then he can pay to fix the bike."

Their conversation fell silent after that. Haechan sat back in his chair defeatedly, while taking another biscuit from the jar and biting into it with childlike annoyance. In that respect they were pretty similar, Xiaojun released. The both of them didn't like not getting what they wanted.

"Hey..." a quiet and unfamiliar voice spoke up. Xiaojun turned around in his seat to look towards the bottom of the metal stairs at the back of the 'living room'. They led up to the 'second floor', where most of the beds were laid out. Xiaojun looked the stranger up and down. His eyes were red, his skin pale, his hair messy and dirty, and the clothes he was wearing were Taeyong's. Ah, that explained the ones on the clothing line.

"Hey," Haechan replied with a nod of his head. He continued to chew on his biscuit after that, though his eyes remained on the stranger, much like Xiaojun's.

"Err... I better get going," the stranger said. At that Taeyong dropped whatever he'd been washing up back into the dirty dishwater, though he didn't do anything else.

"Where're you heading then?" Haechan asked, his eyes once more looking the stranger up and down. Xiaojun found himself doing the same. Was he a threat? Didn't look like much of a threat. Was he one of them? He wasn't sure. But was he a threat? Was he a threat?

"I dunno," the stranger replied. "Where are my clothes. I'll—"

"They're still wet," Taeyong said, having recognised his cue to step in. "And you're probably hungry. Or you will be soon anyway. Stay for dinner."

"Where're you from?" Haechan asked.

"What did you say about the rules just now?" Taeyong asked, much to Xiaojun's annoyance, as he would've liked to hear the answer. "Don't ask." Taeyong looked back at the stranger. "Sit down if you like. Are you thirsty?"

"No— Yeah..."

"It's alright. We have enough drinking water left."

"How... What... What is this place?" the stranger asked. He sat down at the dining table, then moved one of his shaky hands through his messy hair. Xiaojun wondered whether he'd looked as terrible too, on his first day.

"For most of us it's home," Haechan replied. Taeyong dared to let a small smile break out onto his face.

The stranger looked around and by the look on his face it was clear enough that he wasn't sure what to think of what he saw. Xiaojun had to admit it had been quite a shock at the start, but now he hardly still noticed the mismatched furniture, and the collection of random items, most in various states of disrepair. It had become familiar, comfortable almost, no matter how starkly different it was from anything he'd known before coming here. Maybe that's exactly why it was a comfort.

"You get used to it," Xiaojun replied. "Though it gets pretty cold in the winters, I have to admit."

"I'm not..." staying. The stranger looked down at the surface of the battered dining table, then let out a shaky breath.

"You'll have to stay until your clothes are dry," Taeyong replied. He turned to look towards the window. "The sun's not out, so it'll be a day or so still. We used to have a dryer for a while, but that thing broke. I tried fixing it, but we need parts for it, and they're hard to get. What was it called again—"

"Hyung, he doesn't care about the dryer," Haechan interrupted.

"No, it's fine," the stranger replied. "The dryer is fine."

"I hope you aren't too picky with food," Taeyong joked, though the laugh he let out lacked something. He put a glass of water down on the table. "I'm running out of options."

***

Xiaojun didn't look well. He'd lost weight again, and his skin was lacking in colour. But the moment Hendery approached him his worried expression faded from his features as easily as snow before the sun, and in its stead a smile spread across the shorter boy's face. Hendery returned it.

"I'm glad you came," Xiaojun said. Hendery frowned at those words, feeling a little taken aback, though not letting the sensation steal the smile from his face.

"Why would you doubt that I would?" Hendery asked. Xiaojun shrugged at that, either not sure about the answer, or feeling too bad about whatever the reason was to say it out loud.

"How are you?" Xiaojun asked. He looked up into Hendery's face and Hendery realised, not for the first time, that Xiaojun meant for him to answer honestly. It wasn't like most other people in Hendery's life, who asked that question merely to conform to social standards and expected the same answer every time. Sometimes Hendery wondered what the shock on their faces would look like if he'd ever tell the truth.

"Yeah... alright," Hendery replied.

"Yeah?" Xiaojun asked. "What about Mother and Father?" Hendery knew better than to interpret that question as Xiaojun asking after the well-being of his parents. The cynical tone was unmistakable.

"They're alright. Don't worry about that, alright?"

"Well, you know a completely different side to them than I do, I guess," Xiaojun retorted, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Hendery didn't blame him. He used to, but that was before he'd known better.

"How're you?" Hendery asked. Once again he noticed the dark circles under Xiaojun's eyes, and the dryness to his lips, and the way his eyes were more watery than they used to be, but no less stunning. "I worry about you all the time, you know?"

"I'm alright. I'm safe."

Hendery nodded, though wished he'd be given a different answer for once. Sometimes he hoped Xiaojun would just break down and tell him he wasn't okay. At least then Hendery would be able to do something. "Are you sure?" he therefore asked. If he'd know what buttons to push, he'd push them. If he could get his fingers between the cracks and pull him apart. then he would. At least then he'd be able to see what truly went on beneath, and then, maybe. he'd be able to help.

"Why won't you at least tell me where you're staying?" Hendery asked.

"It's the rules," Xiaojun asked, and Hendery struggled to stop his frustration from letting itself be known. "Because none of us want to be found."

"It's only me," Hendery stated. "You trust me right?"

"I do," Xiaojun said, his eyes on the pavement. "But..." For a moment Hendery was hopeful Xiaojun might tell him something, but his sentence never came out. Hendery knew better than to press for it. The last thing he wanted was to push Xiaojun back into whatever dark place he'd come from to meet him tonight. This happened rarely enough as it was, mostly as Xiaojun was impossible to get a hold of. Hendery simply had to wait for the next phone call and hope it'd still come.

"Come, let me buy you something to eat," Hendery said. He looked Xiaojun over again and noticed the prominence of his cheekbones. That hadn't always been the case, had it? Did he eat enough? Did he even have enough money for food? Hendery wasn't sure whether he could ask. He never knew where that invisible boundary lied, between where Xiaojun was open and where he was shut and on high alert. Hendery had chased him away a few times too many in the past to believe he'd get it right today.

"And a coffee, please," Xiaojun added with a slightly cheeky smile. At least he was still capable of those, Hendery supposed.

"Sure," Hendery replied.

It never used to be the case that Hendery felt odd taking Xiaojun places, but that was before Xiaojun had run away, before he'd bleached his hair with cheap product, and before the clothes he wore came straight out of god knows where, but Hendery was pretty sure Xiaojun wasn't their first owner. Hendery felt weird in his expensive shirt and jeans. He felt weird stepping into one of the nicer looking coffee shops and sitting down at the same table, while the two of them looked like they came from different worlds. Once upon a time the thought that they might not live beneath the same roof had seemed unimaginable. But once upon a time neither of them had known how the cruelties of the world could get under your skin and change a person the way that they changed Xiaojun. Not that Hendery saw a stranger when he looked at him. Far from it.

Hendery ordered some food for the both of them to share — enough to ensure Xiaojun got a decent meal in him — and two coffees.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you get up to then?" Hendery asked when the waiter left their table. Xiaojun seemed suddenly preoccupied with one of his sleeves.

"Oh, nothing much," he replied. Hendery nodded, though not without letting a sigh escape. "I'm okay. I'm safe."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true," Xiaojun said.

"I wish you'd come back home."

Xiaojun let out a laugh, like Hendery's suggestion truly amused him. Hendery tried not to take that too personally, but he felt the divide between them widen. Wherever Xiaojun was, it was far away, and Hendery feared that soon they'd stop speaking each other's language. "Have they mentioned me at all, since I left?"

Hendery was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said, hoping desperately Xiaojun wouldn't ask for any details.

Surprise registered on Xiaojun's face, and — much to Hendery's shock — so did hope. "Really? What did they say?"

Hendery looked at him a second, then shook his head, which put a quick end to Xiaojun's momentary desperation. Or, at the very least, it buried it back beneath cynicism quicker than Hendery could register. "I'd hoped they'd at least miss me a little."

"Well, do you miss them?" Hendery asked, expecting a huff and another laugh, and feeling renewed shock when Xiaojun looked back down at the surface of the table and shrugged. Right when Hendery relied on Xiaojun's defences, they failed to kick in. "Sorry..."

"I spent pff... how many years in that goddamn place?" Xiaojun asked.

"Six or seven years," Hendery replied. He remembered vividly the first time Xiaojun had been introduced to the household. Hendery himself had been a spoiled only child at the time, and he hadn't been happy. Looking back now he realised how lonely he'd been before Xiaojun. He knew, because he was confronted again with it now Xiaojun had left.

"Yeah... six or seven," Xiaojun replied. "I really wanted to like it."

"Why?" Hendery asked.

"Because—" Xiaojun began with a hint of anger in his voice, but then he reconsidered and started again. The next time he looked at Hendery his gaze had softened and Hendery could so clearly see that scared ten year old boy he'd met back then. "Because I needed something. You know."

"Yeah... I know."

***

It had been two nights and two days and he hadn't gone anywhere. The light coming in through the windows and the gaps in the ceiling and around every door frame was darkening once more and Yuta figured he'd be here until tomorrow morning after all. But then he'd go.

He found himself preoccupied with two things. One was the fight he'd ran away from and the second was a question that was slowly eating him up from the inside out. Were they looking for him?

Yuta was curled up into one of the corners of an old settee that stood as part of a makeshift living room. There wasn't much in the sense of privacy in a place like this, but for the most part Yuta had been left alone. Yuta never did well among strangers, but he realised there was something different about the people here. Good different or bad different, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure they were mutually exclusive.

Movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. A moment later someone had fallen down into the other half of the settee. So much for being left alone, Yuta thought, especially as the other's attention drew straight to him and a moment later they'd made eye contact and Yuta could no longer retreat into his shell.

"I never caught your name," the stranger spoke. He had a strange face, Yuta thought, though he wasn't sure why he thought so. Something about it didn't fit the picture of the abandoned warehouse and the terrible clothes and the slightly uneven haircut.

"Yuta," he replied. "You?" He wasn't sure why he was interested.

"Taeil," he replied with a slight nod of his head; a gesture Yuta still didn't know how to read. "I know where to get another mattress from," he said. "That should make your life a little easier."

"I'm not..." staying.

"It should be pretty comfortable too, practically  _ new _ . All I need to figure out is how to get it here."

"How do you usually?" Yuta asked. It was strange to feel out of his league between guys who looked like they were dragging the remains of their life on a rope behind them, but he did. In his short time here he'd witnessed someone repair a radio with rusty spare parts, cook a perfectly acceptable meal with nothing but second grade ingredients, and make jokes about everything that should be too painful to ever speak of.

"Usually we make a deal," Taeil said. "But things have been a little... hm how should I say... rough going."

"Between?" Yuta asked. He hadn't noticed any hostility, but he wasn't sure he'd recognise it for what it was in a place like this.

"Oh, some of the others," Taeil said, while waving his hand vaguely in the air. "We try not to get involved too much. They're in with the whole drugs thing, and rules says we can't, but the van's handy. Ever since he got a girlfriend he hasn't been round, though."

Yuta felt his heart beginning to race faster. He'd always thought of himself as someone who'd seen stuff and been through stuff, more so than the average person, but coming here had made him realise that he really knew very little.

"You don't drive by any chance?" Taeil said.

"I don't, sorry," Yuta replied. "I never even tried. That kinda thing... err... Let's just say my father didn't fancy teaching me much."

"Oh right," Taeil said. "That's a shame."

"Yeah," Yuta replied, while he looked off into the distance. The warehouse practically disappeared from in front of his eyes. "Yeah, especially since he's obsessed with cars and stuff."

Taeil snickered. "Sorry, that sucks."

"Yeah, it does a bit," Yuta said. He felt himself return to reality and looked back at Taeil. His mouth was weird. No, the fact that he was laughing was weird. It was almost like Yuta hadn't just told him one of his most painful thoughts.

"So, you're gay, then?" Taeil asked. The shock registered before Yuta could even comprehend why he was panicking. His hands began to sweat and tremble, and his heart was beating painfully against the insides of his ribs.

"What? No! What makes you think that?" It was an automatic, fear-fuelled response and even Yuta himself could clearly hear how defensive his words had sounded, and how, as a consequence, they were void of any credibility.

Taeil chuckled again, then sat back comfortably in the settee. "It's fine," he said. "So am I. You'll start to feel better about it all soon." Yuta had never talked about this. (The 'conversations' with his parents clearly didn't count.) "Anyway, I'm starving. Have you seen Taeyong?"

"You're..." Yuta began, but then he shut his mouth and turned his gaze away. Perhaps it was better not to ask. Perhaps it was better to leave tonight after all.

***

"Yo, look at this!"

"That's a golden monkey."

"I know right! Isn't it awesome? Look it can stand."

"Mark..."

"Don't worry, I didn't  _ pay _ for it."

"Wow hey, look at who it is." Johnny pushed himself up against the outside wall of the warehouse and took a step in the direction of the road. The road met at the end of the drive which trucks must have once used when the warehouse had still been used for its original purposes. Johnny had to narrow his eyes against the light of the setting sun, shining directly from the west and into his face, but it wasn't hard to recognise the demeanour of the figure approaching. Johnny knew but one person who always looked like he was floating above himself at any given moment. Doyoung hadn't seen them yet, or perhaps he had and had therefore resorted to keeping his eyes on the road as he approached.

"Yo, what?" Mark asked. The golden monkey was hanging by his side now, forgotten. "Hyung's back suddenly?"

"Guess so," Johnny replied. He made sure to speak quietly enough, so their words stood no chance of reaching the approaching boy. "We better tell Taeyong to make extra."

"Yeah," Mark said, but he showed no intention of going inside and doing so. The both of them waited for Doyoung to approach. He didn't seem to have noticed them yet, but that was hardly a surprise. Doyoung was never really here, after all. Johnny wasn't sure if he'd ever heard him say something  _ real _ about himself. Thinking about that now, it felt like he was watching a stranger he'd known for three years approach.

It was only when Doyoung had already turned the corner onto the drive that he lifted his head enough to catch sight of them. His expression changed very little, which Johnny assumed meant he had indeed known they were there. "Hey," he said, in a tone that matched his empty expression.

"Hyung, hey," Mark said. "What's err... what's up?"

Johnny couldn't help but look Doyoung over, but — as always — it was so hard to see anything on him at all. Johnny had never met someone more closed, more shut off. "It's nice to have you back," he said. Doyoung looked at him and Johnny noticed he was able to look beyond the surface, but that was about all he was able to do. He couldn't name what he saw there. That had always been the problem. Doyoung gave him a slight nod, which was his way of saying he appreciated Johnny's comment. Johnny felt himself beginning to smile a little, though he could never tell whether it was the right time for it.

"What's that?" Doyoung asked, looking down at Mark's hand.

"This?" Mark asked, while holding up the ugly sculpture. "I found it. Someone was just throwing it away." Doyoung tilted his head slightly, as if trying to take in what he was looking at. "It's a golden monkey."

"Oh, right," Doyoung said, looking back up at Mark, rather expressionlessly. "It's good to know nothing much ever changes here."

***

The scent of cigarettes, liquor and sweat had tainted the air of the WeiShen V club. The music was loud enough to make conversation tactically impossible. That brought people closer, Vera, the owner, would say. Xiaojun absentmindedly ran his fingers across the mesh of the tight shirt he was wearing. The empty bench by the back wall was starting to look more and more inviting, but he wasn't supposed to sit down. That didn't make a good product. Ugh. Dumb 'house rules'. They were exactly the reason Xiaojun often preferred to go onto the streets. instead of coming here. He was fed up with people telling him what he could and couldn't do. So, why was he here...? Well, there was  _ some _ regulation as to who was let into here. And it was getting cold out again.

Xiaojun took a step back, out of the full blast of the music, and he stole a deep breath. "That sour look is going to cost you a customer," Vera said. Xiaojun turned to look at the older woman. Her hair was done up into luscious grey curls. pinned up to the side of her head with a golden pin in the shape of a bird carrying a rose in its beak.

"I can't help it much," Xiaojun stated.

"You know I give you special treatment all the time, right? The least you could do is put on your sweet smile while you're here," Vera said. "I let you work out on the streets whenever you want. You know how I feel about that."

"You don't usually  _ find _ them on the streets either," Xiaojun replied. "It's hardly my fault you need me."

"You should be thankful you're so pretty," Vera said, letting out a defeated sigh. "Else you wouldn't get away with half as much as you do."

Xiaojun hummed and looked at the moving crowds among the multi-coloured lights. An ocean of misery disguised as sex. Then again, Xiaojun didn't know he'd ever seen sex be anything else. "Well, I don't like sharing my money."

"I keep you safe, Xiaojun," Vera said. This time she looked into his eyes and Xiaojun felt an uncomfortable rush of panic shoot right through his chest. The look in her eyes was so unfamiliar: concern.

"Whatever," Xiaojun said. "Anyway, who's he?" He wouldn't ignore an opportunity to change the topic now, and he had been wondering all night. Vera followed his gaze, though her shoulders slumped before she'd caught sight of the boy at the other end of the club, standing near the door that lead up to the second floor. His hands were clenched around the metal bar that served as a divider.

"He's new," Vera said. "He's got nothing. You know the story."

"Yeah..." Xiaojun said.

"He came in asking for work," she said. "Because of the sight, you know." She nodded towards the front windows. "I don't think he realised what it meant, exactly. I told him to go, but he said he didn't know where else he'd go."

"Right," Xiaojun said. The posture of the other boy was tense and Xiaojun had noticed the way his shoulders would tremble, almost like he was crying, or holding back tears with severe difficulty. Xiaojun turned his gaze away, as he didn't see reason to keep torturing himself with the image. He remembered his first night. "How old is he even? Jesus."

"Now, now," Vera replied. She rested her hand on Xiaojun's shoulder. He could feel her semi-cold fingers through the mesh of his shirt. It wasn't the first time he noticed she was always cold. "Remind me again how old you were when you started? At least he isn't out on the streets."

"Jesus," Xiaojun said again.

"Will you talk to him for me?" Vera asked. "I was thinking that might be a good idea. It's not like he'll listen to me much. I'm just an old lady."

"That's not what you told me when you kidnapped me," Xiaojun muttered. He glanced sideways again, right when the boy's head sunk forward, his shoulders tenser than before, and his fingers tense around the metal railing. "But fine. I'll talk to him."

"I told him to think about it," Vera said. "To have a look, get a feel for the business. If he's not run away by the end of the night, he can start tomorrow." She gave Xiaojun one of her signature warning looks. "So no stunts. alright? No one is losing their fucking virginity tonight. Is that clear?"

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Xiaojun asked. "Pay for him myself?" He rolled his eyes.

"You're impulsive," Vera replied in all seriousness. "You don't think anything through. I don't want that to rub off on him.  _ Look _ at him. Little chipmunk."

"Thanks for that," Xiaojun muttered, before taking a step in the boy's direction.

Vera gently patted his ass as he stepped past her, but Xiaojun knew to differentiate it from the touch of men. This was different. "I'm glad you came here again, darling," she said, her voice soft. "I'll find you a client."

"Make it one that pays well."

The boy didn't see him approaching. His eyes were big as they scanned the crowds. They trembled slightly, Xiaojun noticed. His breathing was no steadier. It was hard not to feel pity, despite how Xiaojun had come to know the absolute irrelevance of pity. It had never done him any good, any way.

"What's your name then?" Xiaojun asked. He leaned against the railing besides the other boy, following his example and looking at the sea of people, rather than the other boy. Privacy was a scarce privilege in a place like this. The least Xiaojun could do was give him some. The boy didn't return the favour. Even from the corner of his eyes Xiaojun could see how the boy was looking him over, eyes lingering on the cropped mesh shirt and the tight jeans and the makeup on his face. When he got no reply, Xiaojun realised he would have to try a little harder. "I'm Xiaojun."

"Are you—" the boy asked. His voice was so insecure and so soft that Xiaojun could barely distinguish his words over the sound of the music. It wasn't as loud up here, but still.

"Come," he said, while he pushed himself away from the railing. "Let's go somewhere a little quieter."

"Huh—"

Xiaojun reached out and grabbed the boy's wrist — thin — in his hand and pulled him along to the door. The moment it fell shut behind them the music became a manageable drone, The hallway was concrete, dust and moving boxes, filled mostly with empty bottles that had to be taken round the back to the trash by the end of the drinking tonight. Xiaojun stepped through the first door frame — the door had long been missing from it — into a cramped kitchenette. There was just enough space for a table, two chairs and a counter with some essentials.

Xiaojun leaned back against the side of the table while he looked towards the other boy. The bright kitchen lights overhead showed his features much more clearly than the club lights had done. Scared brown eyes, tainted red from crying. His jaw was tensed with fear. Xiaojun tilted his head a little as he looked him over. They were approximately the same height and built; short and skinny, that was. Though, despite that, the other boy appeared a head shorter as they stood opposite each other. His shoulders were raised with tension, his hands tensed by his sides, and he couldn't control his shaking. He looked too young. He looked too scared. But he was pretty.

"What's your name?" Xiaojun asked again.

"Err... Yangyang."

"Alright, Yangyang," Xiaojun said. "You have nowhere else to go, do you?"

Yangyang was silent for a moment, then shook his head. He looked on the brink of tears again. Xiaojun took a deep breath.

"Alright," he said again. It was hard to be cruel to someone standing on the edge of a cliff. Xiaojun wasn't sure he was up for the task, but Vera had probably asked him for a reason. Xiaojun wasn't sure what that reason was, as his mind was drawing a blank. "Then you just have to do it, don't you?"

"How...?" Yangyang asked.

Xiaojun found it hard to remember what thoughts had led up to him going out onto the streets and waiting for a car to stop. At first he hadn't even been sure about the customs of that sort of thing. He'd looked some stuff up online, but the real thing had turned out to be completely different. It went much faster, with way less conversation, and you felt way worse by the end of it.

"You go out there, put on something sexy, and you think of nothing. Not while you're waiting, not when someone approaches you and tells you you're sexy, pretty, this or that, and  _ definitely _ not when he's fucking you."

At those words the other boy physically stumbled. Xiaojun pushed himself away from the table and reached his hand out to Yangyang's shoulder, just in case he would collapse without the support. After that he pulled out one of the chairs and guided Yangyang to it.

"I don't think I can do it..." Yangyang said.

"Then go," Xiaojun said, but it hurt to say, because he knew Yangyang couldn't. Else he wouldn't be here now. If he had  _ anywhere  _ else, he wouldn't be here.

"She gave me food," Yangyang said. "I hadn't had anything to eat for three days, before I came here." That concept still seemed alien to the boy across from him, despite how he'd lived that experience just now. It would take weeks or months before he'd come to terms with his new life. And even then, it would never be okay. Could Xiaojun tell him that?

"You're pretty," Xiaojun stated. "You'll do fine. You won't go hungry anymore."

Yangyang looked up at him, and Xiaojun noticed the way the reflection of the overhead light broke into a million pieces in his watery eyes. "I don't know how— What—"

Xiaojun stepped back, pulled out the other seat and sat down. He wondered if he'd still get to work tonight. By the sounds of it, this boy was going to need a guided tour. Xiaojun leaned forward on the table and looked into the younger boy's eyes. He wondered how long it would be before the naivety would disappear from them. How long before he'd become unrecognisable?

"What do you want to know?" Xiaojun asked. "I'll tell you."

Yangyang's lips parted, but for the longest time he did nothing else. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said in the quietest voice, filled with embarrassment: "I don't know how it goes."

"Sex? You better learn to say it."

Yangyang looked away. Xiaojun wondered whether he'd gone too far, but if he had, then he supposed the boy was better off on the streets going hungry. At least Xiaojun had never been scared of sex itself. He'd been scared of the men wanting it of him, but not the act itself. It wasn't comfortable, and Xiaojun hated every single night he'd spent here or on the streets, in whatever godforsaken place he'd end up, beneath whatever fucking asshole, but  _ sex _ didn't scare him.

"You wait around for someone to approach you. Some nights go faster than others, but you shouldn't have much of a problem there. Then it depends on the guy. You either flirt a little, while he feels you up like you're a piece of fruit he's contemplating to buy. Or he's already made up his mind and you don't even get to exchanging names. You go along with him, and you act pretty and dumb. Then he pays you. He pays you or he can fuck off. Okay? If he says he'll pay after, it means he doesn't have the money, and you should get the hell away. Only when you have the money you start taking off your clothes, or let him take off your clothes if he wants. That doesn't happen much, though, don't worry. Then you do whatever it is he wants. You suck him off, he fucks you... whatever. Safely, okay? Don't fuck around. You use a condom, and never agree to anything else. On the streets, if they offer you a fuck ton of money for it, then whatever, you can do whatever. But in here... If Vera finds out, you're dead. Understand what I'm saying?" Yangyang didn't respond, so Xiaojun continued. "After that you try to hold on to whatever dignity you have left, while he fucks you."

Yangyang's breathing had become less and less steady, but the look in his eyes had hardened, and when Xiaojun stopped talking he nodded. It was barely visible, but Xiaojun caught it, and he figured it meant Yangyang truly had exhausted all his alternatives. He was fighting off his every instinct to run. He was trying to accept what Xiaojun was telling him and the future it implied. For a moment it looked like he might manage, but then his shoulders shook and he collapsed forward onto the table, a sob breaking through his crumbling defences.

"How old are you?" Xiaojun asked, but then he changed his mind. "No, nevermind. I don't want to know." He pushed himself up from the table. Something inside of his chest was starting to throb. The sound of Yangyang's sobbing was ringing in his ears. "Get some sleep, alright?" Xiaojun said, while looking at the clock that had been hung up above the door. The arms pointed to seven thirty, but they had been for three years. "If you're here tomorrow, I'll help you, alright? You'll be fine." Xiaojun reached for Yangyang's shoulder and squeezed it briefly, before he stepped towards the door. "Get some sleep."

***

He hadn't meant for it to happen. He hadn't meant to ruin it. But it was hard to imagine now that he had been serious about her, when the things she was shouting were undeniably true. "How many, hm?!" Her voice had gone raw from screaming. His own hurt just to hear the strain in hers.

He raised his hands, which were trembling slightly, and tried to jump to his own defences. "None of it meant anything..."

"Apparently I didn't either," she replied. He'd never meant to hurt her. He'd never meant to make her cry. But she was both right now. Her usual pale cheeks were red with emotion. Her hair had gone messy as she failed to keep her composure. He didn't blame her. "After all the shit you told me, I can't believe it!"

"I'm sorry," he said, but with every moment that passed he felt like he was losing her further and further. She felt out of reach already, and with a pang he realised she would no longer be there during cold nights or lonely days. "Please don't go... please..."

"I'm not fucking stupid enough to fall for it, thanks," she retorted. She'd never looked at him like this. She reserved this look for the scum of the earth. He'd seen this look on her face when referring to her adoptive father. He'd seen this look on her face when talking about her ex-boyfriend. He'd become just another one of the men in her life that'd ruined her. Shit.  _ Shit _ .

"It was a mistake..."

"Yeah, it was," she retorted. She grabbed her coat from the hook and reached for the door. He could only watch as she opened it and allowed a flood of unexpected afternoon sunlight into the darkened room. "I'll come by for my stuff when I know you're not here. I never want to see you again. Goodbye, Jaehyun." The door shut with a bang.

"Yeah, goodbye..."

***

"Taeyong!" The shout sounded through the warehouse, echoing against the walls. It was two A.M. in the morning and the place had been quiet until then. Yuta had been attempting to fall asleep, though hadn't managed to find any rest yet. "TAEYONG!"

Someone on one of the mattresses at the other end of the space grunted and turned onto their other side. Yuta, on the other hand, was sitting upright, body tense with shock, sweat beginning to form on his brow. He didn't recognise the voice coming from downstairs, but he recognised the desperate tone in it. He recognised it as a voice of someone on the edge and he knew what that could mean.

Through the gap in the wall that functioned as a door, Yuta could see a figure pass by their room, hurrying to get to the stairs and down them, right when the voice called out again.

Yuta had no idea why but he quickly pushed himself up from his mattress. He took quiet steps towards the door and peeked through it. It was a good thing the place was darker upstairs than it was downstairs, as it allowed Yuta to sneak closer to the stairs and peek downwards through the metal railings. A figure stood in the middle of the living room. Yuta couldn't make out many of his features, but his hair was blond — bleached, no doubt — and he appeared to be quite tall. He was taller than Taeyong was, at any rate, who was quickly rushing up to him the moment he reached the downstairs floor.

"What the fuck took you so long?" the intruder asked, his voice much louder than it needed to be. He sounded drunk, Yuta realised. Drunk and hurt. Yuta swallowed the lump in his throat and tried not to pay attention to the images arising in the back of his mind.

Yuta could hear Taeyong say something, but couldn't make out his words. He leaned closer to the barrier, trying to catch more of the sound. He wasn't sure why he felt a need to, but then again, he was probably just doing this out of habit. He'd done this all his life. He couldn't even say with certainty that the people he had been spying on as a child had been any less like strangers than the two figures standing among the mismatched furniture now.

"Taeyong, I'm going to—"

"No, no, it's okay," Taeyong said, loud enough for Yuta to hear. The exasperation in his voice would do it, of course. He remembered that it always used to work like that. "Stay here for a while, okay?"

"No—"

"It's not up for discussion," Taeyong said. One of his hands was around the stranger's upper arm. Yuta had no idea how he dared to touch him at all. He looked half wild. He probably was.

"She's such a fucking  _ bitch, _ I fucking  _ swear _ !"

Taeyong's response was inaudible once more. He'd resorted to using a much quieter voice. Yuta couldn't determine what he might have said, other than that it was probably meant to soothe the other. It didn't work as a moment later Taeyong was shoved back, rather roughly.

"I don't want to fucking hear it, okay?! All those fucking bitches, they're all the same."

"I think we both know that—"

"Shut up!"

"Okay... okay."

Both Yuta's hands were clutching the railing, which was the only reason they had stopped trembling. He could barely still feel his fingers, as his grip tightened with every word spoken downstairs. He felt stuck, he had nowhere to run. In order to get away he'd have to get past them, and he'd get hurt if he tried. He'd get hurt...

"I thought it'd be different this time," the stranger said. In his voice too many emotions were colliding. Yuta could barely still pick them apart and figure them out. But it didn't matter. He heard anger — overwhelming, out of control anger — and he couldn't  _ breathe _ . The rest didn't matter.

"I know," Taeyong replied.

"No, you don't fucking know. You don't fucking know what it feels like to— to  _ fuck up _ . To fuck up everything that matters. She— Fucking  _ bitch _ ! Fucking, fucking  _ fuck FUCK! _ "

Yuta curled in on himself. He was pressing his forehead against the metal bar now. It helped to cool his skin a little, but other than that he felt sick to his stomach. It was for that reason that he jumped as severely as he did at the quiet 'hey' behind him. He turned so fast he pulled a muscle in the side of his neck, which throbbed painfully. He quickly determined he wasn't under immediate threat, but his heart wouldn't slow down. In fact, the adrenaline was only just beginning to properly poison his blood.

"I tried not to make you jump..." Taeil whispered quietly, in order not to be overheard downstairs. "What are you doing here? It's cold." Yuta didn't feel it. Taeil took a step closer to the edge and peeked over it, but then he turned his gaze back to Yuta, almost like the scene downstairs did nothing to him. Yuta didn't understand. Anything could happen. He'd get hurt, he'd get hurt...

"It's just Jaehyun," Taeil explained when Yuta didn't manage to reply. "He gets like this."

Yuta watched as another string of insults left the stranger — Jaehyun's — mouth and Taeyong had to endure another push. Soon those pushes would turn to punches. And then to kicks. And then to— No, no, no, no.... Yuta bent forward and covered his head with his arms. It was the only thing he could think of doing. It was the only thing that had ever made him feel a little safer.

Going by the sound besides him, he figured Taeil had sat down too. Taeil didn't reach out for him, or touch him at all, but Yuta could feel his presence. Taeil let out a quiet sigh. "It was that bad, was it?" he asked.

"Yeah..."

"It's okay now. Nothing is going to happen to you here," Taeil said. "I can promise you that." From downstairs came more shouts, which had Taeil chuckle slightly. "Ignore him."

"I don't understand what's going on?" Yuta asked, hyper aware of the fact that that question didn't just entail the conversation going on downstairs, but something much larger than that. "I don't understand anything anymore."

"I can't exactly explain it to you," Taeil said. He gently placed his hand on Yuta's knee, which had him tense up immediately, which in turn had Taeil pull his hand back. "But this place is the only thing that's ever made sense to me. To most of us, in fact. It just takes some time." Another shout from downstairs had Yuta wince. "Good thing about him being back is we'll be able to pick up the extra mattress tomorrow."

***

His face was wet and his hair was sticking to his skin. He cupped his hands together once more and gathered more cold water in them, which he threw up into his face. It helped little to calm him down. He turned off the tap and reached for the towel, which he used to dry his skin. He didn't want to, but the mirror was right across from him and he looked into it automatically. He didn't recognise himself. Not really. He wasn't sure when he'd lost track of who he was, but it had gotten significantly worse over the past few weeks. Despite where he was now, and what he was here to do, he still couldn't imagine himself here.

Was anyone looking for him? Had anyone even noticed he'd gone?

Not that it mattered anymore now. He was never going back. Not home. Not to school. Whatever life he'd had back then was over, and the quicker he was to accept that, the better.


	3. make a wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everybody! Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and comments on this story! It's very much appreciated. ♥️

The sky cracked above their heads and a wild roar split the heavens apart. Jungwoo pulled his hoodie up to cover his head, though the drops of rain that began to bombard them were heavy enough to sink through the material almost instantly. He looked up at Xiaojun, who was difficult to see through the grey blur of rainfall. Xiaojun held up one of his hands to stop the water from going into his eyes, as he didn't have anything to cover himself up with.

Right when Jungwoo was about to speak, a bright flash disorientated the two of them. They watched the aggressive line shoot across the sky. "We should run!" Jungwoo said, forced to shout over the noise of the storm. They weren't too far from home, and by the time they'd near the closest hideout they'd be soaked through anyway. Besides, Taeyong was counting on them. He'd probably worry if they didn't return soon. He'd even insisted they didn't go at all, but Jungwoo had insisted they'd be back before the storm.

Xiaojun groaned in annoyance as the two of them began to run. The plastic bags they were carrying swung against their legs in protest. Jungwoo looked down to ensure they were holding out now that they were quickly filling with rainwater. Well, it couldn't do the berries any harm, could it? It was basically a free wash.

Another deafening crack sounded above and Jungwoo noticed Xiaojun's pace increasing as a consequence. Jungwoo had to admit the sound of it was unnerving. And going by how quickly it was followed by another blinding flash, the storm was hanging right over them.

They turned a right at the end of the street, into the endless road that would eventually lead straight to the city if one were inclined to walk the full three hours there. It was hard to imagine this street led anywhere right now. In front of them lay a grey world, blurred and empty. Jungwoo couldn't even see the warehouse yet.

"Hurry!" Xiaojun called. Jungwoo tried to keep up, though it was hard not to lose his breath. The panic must be making Xiaojun fast. Even in the chaos of the moment Jungwoo could see the tensed expression on Xiaojun's face.

They continued to run and finally Jungwoo could make out the shape of the warehouse in the distance. The bags by his side were getting heavier and he worried they might tear before they got home. Were the berries okay? A quick glance down told him very little, as he couldn't see clearly enough.

The moment they came in through the doors they came to a halt, bending forward and panting. Xiaojun immediately dropped his bag. A few berries rolled from it.

"Free shower, guys." Jungwoo looked up to see Johnny approaching them. But before he could say anything else about the state of the two of them, Taeyong came running. He was carrying towels, which Jungwoo gladly took from him and dried his face with, before he started making an attempt to get his hair to stop dripping. Xiaojun, who hadn't even had the initial protection of a hoodie, looked even more drowned than Jungwoo felt.

"I told you not to go..." Taeyong said. He helped dry off Xiaojun's hair, before drying the back of his neck. Xiaojun shuddered.

"We didn't realise the storm was this close," Jungwoo said.

"I told you it was," Taeyong replied. But more so than angry, he sounded distracted, as he tried to help Xiaojun out of his soaking shoes. "Let me get you both something dry to wear. You need to get warm." Taeyong took one of Jungwoo's hands, which he hadn't realised had been trembling badly from the cold. "You better not get sick."

"We got the berries," Xiaojun said, nodding down at the bags, like he was hoping it'd make up for at least something, but Taeyong was gone already. Xiaojun continued to dry his hair while looking at the ground.

Jungwoo tried his best not to shudder while pulling himself free from his hoodie. Even the shirt he'd been wearing underneath was wet through and sticking to his skin.

"Jesus," Johnny muttered, while stepping closer to the door and peeking outside. "It's pouring it down. No one else is out, are they?"

"I don't think so, unless anyone left in the time we were out," Jungwoo said, making sure Taeyong wasn't anywhere within earshot, before he continued. "Everyone who's staying here at the moment anyway."

Taeyong returned not long after that, carrying a pile of clothes and an extra towel.

"Hyung, we don't need another," Xiaojun complained. "That's just more work for you to clean."

"It's okay," Taeyong said. "Don't worry about it."

Xiaojun was pulling his legs free from his jeans. His skin looked raw, especially around his knees, where the material of his tight jeans had rubbed at his skin the most. Jungwoo was glad he was wearing sweatpants. Taeyong looked away as they got changed and Johnny continued to stare outside as the heavy rainfall continued. It looked like it might last all night. The roof of the warehouse was making a racket, but Jungwoo liked the noise. It was a reminder that they were safe and dry.

"I'll make you some tea," Taeyong said. He took the plastic bags off the floor and finally had a look inside them. His eyes widened. "You got so many!"

"Yeah? We weren't sure how much you'd need."

"This is perfect," Taeyong replied, his eyes lit up. Despite the cold, something in Jungwoo's chest felt suddenly warm. "It's definitely enough for the cake!"

After that he disappeared to the kitchen to boil some water for tea.

Jungwoo dried himself off, though his hair continued to drip occasionally. He was freezing, especially in the wafts of cold air which were coming in. The makeshift door they used to barricade themselves off against the outside world didn't exactly keep the cold out. Large gaps showed on either side, and there was enough room underneath the door for a small cat to fit through. Jungwoo knew, as for a while they'd kept a grey stray-cat around. It was still unfortunate she'd stopped showing up one day...

"Shit," Xiaojun muttered. "I said I'd work tonight."

"You can't go anywhere in this weather," Johnny replied. "The wind is picking up too now. Besides, weren't you out last night?"

"Yeah," Xiaojun replied, sounding a little bitter. He was drying his feet with the towel and purposely didn't look up at either of them. Jungwoo had asked multiple times what Xiaojun did, but he'd never been answered. "But I promised someone I'd be there."

Jungwoo continued to dry off and get changed into dry and clean clothes. He was always surprised how Taeyong managed to keep all their clothes so clean. Jungwoo had tried washing them himself a few times, but he never managed to get the dirt off them, and often they'd end up crinkly and smelling of wet dog. Taeyong had never made an issue of doing it for him, despite how Jungwoo wasn't sure what he gave back. That's why he insisted on helping out with the little things, but it was rare for Taeyong to let on to needing anything to happen at all. Perhaps that's why Jungwoo had made it his personal duty to observe him. It was just a shame that even after all these years they'd spent together, he was still so hard to read.

***

"The weather outside is dreadful. I hope you managed to avoid it, dear," his mother spoke with a fabricated look of concern on her features. He knew it was fabricated, because her eyes didn't play along. In fact, they didn't ever look his way at all. If they had done, she would have observed his damp hair and drawn the obvious conclusions.

He sat down at the dinner table without answering her question. There was no point, as he knew from experience she wouldn't really listen to his answer anyway. She'd become quite good at keeping up her end of a conversation without hearing anything at all. He hated feeling like he wasn't really there in the room, so he spared himself.

Hendery looked at his watch and right on the dot the door opened and his father stepped inside. He was still wearing his work clothes, as per usual. Hendery couldn't remember the last time they'd had dinner together without his father in a suit. He worked even on Saturdays and on Sundays he'd wear one to church. There'd been a time where Hendery would have looked up to it, but that time had long since passed now. Whatever misplaced respect he'd had for his father — there'd been a lot of it at some point — had faded away.

"How is your project going?" his mother asked when they were all seated at the table. It took Hendery a moment to figure out who she was talking to. Her eyes were on her plate, after all. Then he remembered he'd told them about his end of year project. It had been the easiest answer he'd thought of giving at the time, as he couldn't possibly have answered with the truth.

"Fine," he replied. He had a bite of food, though didn't really taste it. His father had made a point of hiring an excellent cook, but to Hendery every meal tasted bland. He wasn't sure whether it had anything to do with the cook's capabilities, however.

"I'm sure you're working hard on it. Like your father would, ey?" his father asked. Hendery glanced up and watched his father throw him a misplaced smile, which quickly faded once Hendery didn't return it. He couldn't bring himself to.

"Yeah," he replied, before taking another bite. "I saw Xiaojun the other day." He wasn't sure why he said it. He never said it. He'd carefully avoided having to mention him, even when he was asked about where he'd been whenever he'd gone to see him. But tonight it had simply slipped out.

His mother responded by letting out a weak cough. His father didn't respond at all. Hendery was hyper aware of the mistake he had made, but he wasn't about to apologise. There was no need.

"The potatoes are good like this, aren't they?"

***

"How did you all find something to do?" Yuta asked. He was leaning over the backrest of the sofa, looking out at the boxes Mark and Johnny were carrying inside. "For money... I mean."

"Put it down here," Mark said, moving the box down carefully. He let out a huff when he straightened back up. "This stuff is heavy, yo!"

Johnny turned to Yuta. "You want to start earning?"

"Well... I've been eating your food, and using your stuff," he muttered. A voice in the back of his mind wasn't ready yet to confess that he might have decided to stay, at least for the foreseeable future. "Seems unfair."

"Yeah, hey, err..." Johnny said, glancing sideways to Mark. "How about you get the smaller boxes first," he said. Mark nodded, too preoccupied with the task ahead to get involved in their conversation, which seemed to work well for Johnny, who waited for Mark to leave and lowered his voice. "We all give it an attempt, you know, but... it's not like everyone pays their own. You know the kind of stuff we'd have to get involved with if we wanted to do that, and the rules say we can't."

"The rules..." Yuta mumbled, but he recognised that wasn't what he wanted to talk about right now. He wasn't even sure if the rules said they could talk about the rules, and as he had no idea what happened to those who broke the rules he didn't want to risk it. "So, what do you do?"

"I work for this guy in town," Johnny said, but then he waved it away, like any more details would be irrelevant. "All this stuff is Mark's," he said, nodding towards the boxes. "He sells stuff. Tries to, anyway."

Yuta glanced towards the boxes. "Sells what? To who?"

"Anything to anyone. Most of this stuff is broken, though. If he sells two things in the same week, it's a good week. And..." Johnny lowered his voice. "And it's not like it's expensive stuff."

"So, then how...?" Yuta asked, glancing in the direction of the kitchen where he knew Taeyong was preparing dinner.

"He takes care of us, any of us, whenever we can't," Johnny said. "That's why you shouldn't worry too much."

"But he doesn't even know me," Yuta replied. He remembered the night he'd met Taeyong. In his mind the memory had begun to blur around the edges. He could no longer remember exactly what he'd said, or what Taeyong had told him, but he remembered feeling welcome.

"That's just how he is," Johnny replied.

"With everyone?" Yuta asked.

"No, not with everyone," Johnny said. Mark was coming back through, struggling with another box. "Just with us." Johnny said, before stepping towards Mark to help him by taking the box from him. It cost him considerably less effort.

"But I'm not 'us'..."

"You are now!"

***

"I wasn't sure you'd come back," Haechan said. He had his feet up on the table and was glancing up at Doyoung, who was seated in one of the chairs and bent over a book of some sort, which was lying open on the table in front of him. His back was curved and he was bent far enough down for his hair to hide his facial expression from view. Haechan hadn't seen him turn the page in all the time they'd been sitting here. Haechan took another handful of crisps from the open pack on the table.

Doyoung remained unmoved, which was typical. Haechan hadn't exactly expected him to be responsive. From this angle he looked asleep. Or dead. Quite like usual. Right when Haechan wanted to give up, Doyoung replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Haechan replied, before having more crisps. He raised his eyebrows for a moment, though was aware Doyoung wouldn't see it. Perhaps that was the only reason he did it. "I mean, come on, did  _ you _ know for sure you would?"

Doyoung shook his head.

"Well then," Haechan said. It wasn't like the idea Doyoung might not have come back home didn't impact him at all, but Haechan managed to walk the thin line between openly admitting that he cared and actively pretending not to.

"I wasn't blaming you for thinking I might not," Doyoung replied. "You don't have to talk it right."

"I wasn't," Haechan lied. He wiped his hand on his jeans, before stretching both his arms out and letting out a yawn. "Anyway, hyung is glad you're back."

"Yes, he's said," Doyoung said. He began to play with one of the pages in his book, which Haechan knew meant he'd made him uncomfortable. Oh well.  _ Anything _ made Doyoung uncomfortable. It was hardly Haechan's fault. "How has he been?"

Haechan liked that question. He liked it because he felt like he was in a position to answer. He was always here, unlike most of the others. He didn't have a job, or go out much. He was always close to Taeyong. He even shared his mattress with him most nights. So he  _ knew _ . Or, well, he knew more than most.

"He's been worrying a lot," Haechan said. "He hasn't said, but you know how he gets. Ever since you left he's been more quiet. And then the thing with Jaehyun hyung happened..."

"What happened?" Doyoung asked, fuelling Haechan's ecstasy. He loved knowing what others didn't. He loved telling them all about it. "He's not told me what happened. I just know he came back."

"It was a girl." Haechan said. "He fell in love, he said. Seriously, he wouldn't listen to any of us, telling him it was a stupid idea. I mean, he was in that whole business thing back then too. I suspect he still is, though he's told hyung he's not dealing anymore."

"So, what happened with the girl?" Doyoung asked. Ugh, his reactions were always so underwhelming. Haechan had hoped to at least get his proper attention, but Doyoung was still absentmindedly playing with his book, flipping the page back and forth.

"They moved in together," Haechan replied. "Lasted nearly three months this time."

"But he cheated," Doyoung finished, much to Haechan's annoyance. He'd wanted to say it.

"Yeah, seems like it."

Doyoung finally let go of the page and looked up in Haechan's direction. "What about you? How have you been?"

That was a question Heachen was less pleased with. He shrugged and was the reason they didn't make eye contact, as he looked into a different direction. "Fine."

"Fine?" Doyoung asked. He did this annoying thing where he'd repeat what you told him. He'd turn it into a question, making it almost impossible to answer a simple yes without it sounding like a lie.

"The same as always, really," Haechan said. Doyoung was still looking at him. He could feel his gaze upon him and therefore continued to stare at one of the walls. The paint was beginning to peel more dramatically again now that the weather was cooling down and it was getting more damp. Haechan hated how his sheets would feel clammy and cold every night he got into bed.

"You always say that," Doyoung said. Haechan huffed in annoyance, then leaned forward to get more crisps.

"It's a good thing, right?"

"I don't know," Doyoung replied. "I'm the same as always too."

Haechan finally looked his way, then let out a short chuckle. "Good point," he muttered.

"So, what about the new guy?" Doyoung asked. Haechan felt relieved they were moving on.

"He tried to off himself," Haechan replied. "Taeyong hyung found him. He kept saying he'd leave, but he hasn't yet, so I guess he'll stick. He's nice. Bit weird, but nice. You should talk to him."

***

Renjun was sitting across from him, behind the wall of glass, and for a long while he didn't seem willing to talk. His lip was split and his left eye bruised. He was looking down at the surface of the table and playing with one of his sleeves. Winwin saw his bottom lip quiver every so often, but neither of them said anything.

Occasionally this was simply what their visits were like. They'd sit across from each other, saying near to nothing and barely dare to look up. It was almost like the sight of him through the glass was more painful every time he had to bear it. Winwin wished he could smash the thing to pieces and reach through the shards to grab hold of him. Over the months Renjun had started to fade away and every time Winwin saw him he looked further in the distance. Winwin hated that fucking sheet of glass. He needed to put his hands around Renjun's thin arms and wake him back up to reality.

"Might not be so long anymore now..." Winwin said. "If they do the paperwork and stuff. Six months they'd said, right? Six months and they'd look at it. Then we know what'll happen."

"It's not like they're just going to approve," Renjun muttered. Winwin was glad to hear him say something, though wished he wouldn't sound so void. Once again he cursed the glass. One day he'd no longer be able to bear this anger. One day it would tear right out of him. He had no idea what he'd do then, but it wouldn't be good, and he was terrified.

"Maybe they will," Winwin replied. He was veining optimism. It seemed important to give Renjun at least  _ something _ to hold onto.

"Maybe."

"Hey, are you keeping out of trouble alright?" Winwin asked. He looked at the bruising around Renjun's eye. It looked a few days old and incredibly tender.

"Yeah."

Winwin sighed. "Is it the same guy?"

Renjun shrugged.

"Did you provoke him or did he think this'd be just a bit of fun or...?"

Renjun shrugged again.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Renjun suddenly looked up at him and his eyes quickly filled with hot anger. Winwin pressed his lips together as he watched Renjun's emotions spill over. "Am I hurt anywhere else?" he asked, voice strained. Both his hands slammed down on the metal surface of the table. "Am I?!"

"Sorry," Winwin said quickly, feeling his heart beginning to race. "Try to calm down, alright?" He looked towards the two security guards who stood watch in the corners of the room. Both of them were looking.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll try to calm down. I'll try to calm the fuck down!" Suddenly Renjun was getting up. His chair would have fallen over with the force of it if it hadn't been nailed to the floor. "Yeah... Yeah, I am hurt  _ everywhere else _ ! Do you know what it's like? Do you have any  _ fucking _ — LET ME GO! LET ME OUT OF THIS GODDAMN FUCKING— OW!"

"Renjun, Renjun," Winwin said, voice panicked. "Please, he's just..." He looked towards the guards, who were holding Renjun between them and began to pull him away from the table and the glass.

"That's enough, inmate." If the glass hadn't been there, he would have punched the guy in the face, aiming right for his nose. No question about it. Renjun looked small between the two guards and he didn't stand a chance, which was probably why he struggled as much as he did. Winwin didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see him thrash his limbs and pull on his arms and cry out in excruciating agony. He didn't want to see it and know there was absolutely nothing he could do to get Renjun out.

"Please wait. I— Renjun, calm down, please!" He gasped for breath, not yet realising he was crying himself. "I'll... I'll see you next week. I'll see you..." But the door had shut already and Renjun was gone.

***

Taeyong's arms wrapped tightly around him. It didn't seem to matter that Winwin was much taller than the other boy. In Taeyong's arms he felt suddenly small. It had always been that way, right from the start, but back then Winwin hadn't yet known the significance of having someone in his life who he could always rely on to be there. Taeyong had no reason to care for him, had no reason to love him, but he did anyway. Winwin had never known a love like that before coming here. And he still had no idea what he'd done to deserve it.

"How is he?" Taeyong asked. There was something else Winwin shared with Taeyong that he didn't share with anyone else; Renjun. In Taeyong's voice Winwin heard the same pain he felt every time he thought of Renjun, which was a lot. All the time.

"Yeah... No..." Winwin wished he could give him good news for once, but there never was any. Taeyong pulled away from the hug and pulled Winwin in the direction of the settee so the two of them could sit down.

"Maybe I can come with you again soon," Taeyong said, looking off into the distance. "How long was the prohibition thing still for?"

"Until January," Winwin said.

"So long... What's that for?" Taeyong complained. "It's not like I threatened anyone. How do you do it anyway?"

"Do what? Oh, stay calm? I don't know."

"I don't know how you do that, in a place like that."

"Maybe that's why it's better if you stay home," Winwin said, attempting to sound a little lighthearted. Taeyong didn't laugh.

"We need to get him out of there. He doesn't belong there."

"You know what I'm scared of the most?" Winwin asked, somewhat surprised by his own nerve to bring it up. Apparently he was sufficiently overloaded with emotions for them to begin to spill out. "That he'll start to believe he does."

***

It was supposed to sound like 'happy birthday to you', but the words were only vaguely distinguishable from the shouting and cheering. They were sitting around the large dining table, some sharing seats, others having to stand. Winwin was sitting at the end of the table. Mark had given him a golden crown to wear, made of durable plastic and decorated with large, plastic, purple stones.

Taeyong brought through a large cake, on a big plate. The candles lit on it — 19 of them, no doubt, though Winwin hadn't counted them yet — were of different lengths, depending on which had been used before and which were new. Taeyong placed the cake in front of him and Winwin wondered how he'd managed it. The cream between the two layers was pink, and the scent coming of it was mouthwateringly sweet. The top was decorated with berries, all of them bright red. Wasn't that kind of stuff expensive?

"Wow..." Winwin exclaimed. He looked up at Taeyong, who simply smiled and shook his head before Winwin managed to get his 'thank you' out.

"Make a wish," Haechan said, before he clapped his hands twice in excitement.

"Okay," Winwin replied. He looked down at the flickering lights of the candles, bright in the otherwise darkened and cold space around them. His eyes hurt a little as he stared, but there was something pleasant about the sensation. It felt special to be here, among all the others, and having been given an opportunity to properly do what he did every waking hour of his life:  _ Let him come home. Let him come home. Let him come home. _

***

"She's been to get her goddamn stuff," Jaehyun grunted. He kicked off his shoes, before falling down on the settee. Mark and Johnny had been mid conversation, and the new guy was seated in the arm chair, looking into a book. Jaehyun didn't feel like he'd interrupted particularly much. "She said she would, but it's hard to believe yeah? That was our house. Our  _ home. _ "

"For three months," Johnny interjected, "but I get your point. It sucks, man."

"Couldn't she at least face me? What? She scared of changing her mind or something if she'd seen me again? Probably." Jaehyun huffed.

"At least being back here is good, right?" Mark asked.

Jaehyun had no idea what he would have done if he'd not had this place. He'd left it determined never to come back, but the moment things had gone south, this place was the first he thought of. This place and Taeyong. Wasn't that fucked up?

"Hey, I have to ask," Johnny said. Jaehyun glanced up at him, though felt sceptical about the tone in his voice. "You didn't take any of that stuff here, did you?"

Jaehyun couldn't help roll his eyes. "I've been through this already, okay?"

"Yeah, I figured," Johnny continued. "But Taeyong will take your word for it, cause he does that for all of us."

"I didn't take anything here. I wasn't even on it anymore."

"Alright. Just cigarettes, then?" Johnny asked. "Cause don't think I didn't smell them last night."

"Nothing in the rules about those," Jaehyun retorted.

"Then why are you trying to keep them secret."

Maybe he'd made a mistake coming here after all. The reason he'd left was partially because he couldn't stand all this judgement. For a group who pretended to be open and welcoming, they had a lot of fucking rules. Rules were what Jaehyun had wanted to get away from in the first place. The thought of school still managed to make him shudder. That shit fucked you up.

"Be careful, alright?" Johnny asked. "That's all I'm really saying here."

"Yeah sure," Jaehyun replied. "I'm not planning to overstay my welcome anyway."

***

Yangyang was wearing tight black jeans and a thin shirt that left little to the imagination. His hair was styled differently since the last time Xiaojun had seen him. Or, better said, it was styled tonight, in contrast to the windswept mess it'd been last time. He was even wearing some makeup. Nothing too fancy, but enough to hide the dark marks under his eyes and the paleness of his cheeks. When Xiaojun approached him he turned away.

"Hey, sorry about the other day," Xiaojun said. "The storm—"

"It's okay, don't worry about it."

Xiaojun nodded shortly, though he knew better than to take Yangyang's words as anything close to genuine. He knew what this was. He'd seen it countless times before. It was code on the streets that everyone would let you down sooner or later. Xiaojun just happened to have reason to believe that might not be entirely true, but it was going to be hard to convince Yangyang of that.

"How was it?" he asked.

Yangyang shrugged. Xiaojun bit his bottom lip, then began to take off his winter coat and extra jumper. He looked into the dirty mirror that hung above the sink and ran his fingers through his hair. The way here always messed it up, but the winds had been especially terrible lately.

"Did it hurt much?" Xiaojun asked, while straightening out his fringe. He quickly glanced at Yangyang through the mirror and caught his expression. Xiaojun wished he'd never seen it.

"Yeah."

"It's okay, you'll get used to it," Xiaojun said, but the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Really?" Yangyang asked. "Have you?" Yangyang stepped towards the door to leave the small kitchen and head into the club. "Have you  _ gotten used to it _ ?" Yangyang repeated the words like there was something inherently foul about them. Xiaojun felt his stomach twist. "Anyway, talk later..." And with that the door shut.

Xiaojun turned his attention back to his reflection and then slowly managed to let go of the breath he'd been holding. It was a shame none of the ache in his chest would leave with it.

When he stepped out into the club he made a point of keeping to himself. That was generally how they did it round here anyway. It was rare for any of the prostitutes to talk to one another. For one thing, most of them felt no great need to make friends here, and for another, they couldn't spare the time. Looking unapproachable for even a couple of minutes could mean the difference between getting a client or not. And that. in turn, could make the difference between surviving another week or not.

Not that this place was usually busy with prostitutes. Vera didn't let just anyone in on her little secret business. She'd told Xiaojun she picked the prettiest, but he kind of felt she meant the most hopeless. Maybe she was making up for that miscarriage she'd once told him about. But fuck knows, really. He knew nothing about her, and she knew nothing about him and that worked out just fine on his part.

"Hey, good to see you again. I was starting to worry you wouldn't show anymore."

Xiaojun felt his insides twist — something inside him was crumbling to pieces further and further — but then he looked up with a smile. "Hey," he said, from beneath his lashes. "Don't be silly... Of course I'd be back. I'd miss you too much otherwise."

***

"Shit!"

"Run! Shit, shit, shit! What warned them?!"

"Fuck knows! Just fucking run!"

"Grab the bag!"

Jisung was out first, followed closely by Jaemin and Jeno. All three of them ensured their hoodies were pulled down sufficiently enough to cover their faces, while they ran at top speed down the road. There hadn't been sirens this time, but the flickering of distant blue lights had been more than enough to warn them, though whether it had warned them in time was another question.

Jeno sped ahead, then called behind him. "In here," he said, before disappearing between the bushes to the side of the road. Jisung followed him through easily. Jaemin struggled a little to get his sleeve free from a branch that had snagged it, but then sped behind them. They were off the main road, though Jaemin couldn't yet determine whether that was such a good thing. They were running down the back of a swimming pool.

"Hey, won't there be cameras?!"

"Ssh!" Jeno called out from ahead. A moment later he was gone again. As they sneaked through another hedge, much thicker than the bush from before, Jaemin was forced to push his bag through first, before he could fit through himself. Just how fucking long before the damn bastards were on their tail? "Here," Jeno said once they were all through. He ran down the back of a row of apartment buildings. Jisung and Jaemin tried to keep up to the best of their abilities. Jaemin felt how he was starting to get out of breath. For fuck's sake. Not now!

They planned this stuff carefully. They weren't supposed to get caught. That was the whole point. That's what separated them from all the others. Jaemin looked up at the buildings, though the alleyway they were running through was so dark it was unlikely any cameras would pick up more than three dark silhouettes. By the time the police would even get to the footage they'd be long gone. If they got away at all, that was.

"They're close," Jisung said, voice hushed. The main road ran just off to their right and the sky was flashing with blue lights. Jaemin gasped in an attempt to fill his lungs properly so he could keep running. The bag was starting to get heavy.

Jeno was up ahead, looking down both ends of the adjacent street. "Come on," he hissed at the two of them. Jaemin would have sneered at him if he'd had the breath to do it. Jeno led them down one end of the street, then between two of the houses, into a backyard, through the back and out into more familiar territory; the road leading towards the industrial area where they lived.

Jeno let out a breath. "That was close," he muttered.

Jaemin dropped the bag to the floor and bent forward, panting to catch his breath. Jisung patted his shoulder gently, before grabbing his water bottle and handing to Jaemin, who gladly began unscrewing the cap and had some sips. His throat was burning and the inside of his head was throbbing.

"That was really fucking close," Jeno said again. He turned to Jaemin, who was trying hard not to get disturbed by the various sparks in his vision. "You were supposed to have checked. What happened, hm?!"

"I did check!" Jaemin replied, though his lack of breath withheld him from saying any more. His lungs were protesting and he wished it wouldn't be weird to lie down on the pavement for a while, just until his heart slowed down again and the burning stopped.

"Then how did they find out?" Jeno asked. "There must have been a camera or alarm, and you missed it! That stunt nearly cost us, you know?"

"I know," Jaemin replied. "I'm sorry, alright?"

"Yeah." Jeno bent down to grab the bag off the floor and began to walk off. Jisung stayed behind a moment, while Jaemin took another few deep breaths.

"He'll come round soon enough," Jisung said. "He just freaked out, that's all."

"But he's right," Jaemin replied. "I should've seen it."

"It's not like he's never made a mistake," Jisung said. "Besides, we got away, didn't we? It's fine now. They won't catch us."

Jaemin forced himself to begin walking. It was still a long way to go before they'd be home and he couldn't wait to get into bed. His muscles protested and he felt weak in the aftermath of all of tonight's adrenaline. He tried not to show it as he walked, though he had the feeling Jisung was keeping a close eye on him.

"Is it getting worse again?"

Jaemin shrugged. "Nah, it's fine."

***

Hendery didn't want to go on like this. Every day seemed like a copy paste of the last. His mother greeted him every night with an unvarying range of stock sentences and his father would talk about anything and everything, as long as it didn't matter. Hendery had tried to mention Xiaojun, three times over now, but his attempts were ignored every time. Until tonight, that was. Finally he seemed to have broken through to something.

"Can you stop talking about that boy?" his mother had snapped. Hendery felt his insides curl up.  _ That boy?! _ "I don't see why we need to keep soiling our evening dinners with that name."

"Really?" Hendery asked. "You really don't know? I have no idea what he's doing out there. Do you? Do you know he's safe? Last time I saw him he looked underfed."

"Well, he made his decision all too clear."

"So, you don't care at all?" Hendery asked. "Have you ever?"

"Of course! We used to dream of him growing up right, despite where he came from... We gave him the benefit of the doubt when we took him in. Now, let's talk about something a little more tasteful, shall we? I'm losing my appetite over this nonsense."

"Right. Sure." Hendery pushed his chair back and raised from his seat. "Well, enjoy."

"Hendery, don't you dare—"

But he was already on his way to the door and a moment later he'd left the dining hall for the stairs to the second floor. He hadn't been hungry to begin with, but now he felt downright sick. It was then that his phone started ringing in his pocket and for a brief moment the world made perfect sense.

***

"What happened?" Hendery asked. Xiaojun looked practically dishevelled. He was sitting on the edge of the pavement, one of his hands in his hair and the other sporting a cigarette. "And since when do you smoke?"

Xiaojun huffed, took the last drag and threw his cigarette onto the road to kill it beneath his heel. Only then did he look up at Hendery. His shirt was dirty and his eyes were lined with dark circles. "I just wanted to see you, 's all."

"Yeah, of course," Hendery said. He stepped forward, hesitated, then decided to take a seat besides Xiaojun, despite worrying he'd ruin his clothes. It was a silly thought.

"I want to come home. I don't want to do it anymore."

"Do what?" Hendery asked. He'd never been close to having that question answered. Xiaojun had never given him an opening to get inside, but perhaps this was it.

Xiaojun breathed in, then cast his eyes up to the sky, his breath going shaky. Hendery wished he could reach inside and see whatever it was that Xiaojun saw. The truth was he had no idea. He'd never known, not even during all the years they'd been as close as twins. Hendery was beginning to realise that despite sleeping beneath the same roof, eating at the same table and going to the same school, they'd been in separate worlds.

"I really want to know," Hendery said.

Xiaojun looked him in the eyes, despite how clouded his own were. Hendery realised he was allowed to see something Xiaojun often hid, but it wasn't enough to puzzle together the pieces and know what it was he had to do. Hendery had  _ no idea  _ what he had to do. Perhaps that's mainly why he'd come here tonight, in the hope Xiaojun could tell him.

"I'm a whore," Xiaojun said. Hendery's insides ran cold. The words didn't instantly register, and when they did he still couldn't convince himself he'd just heard them coming from Xiaojun's mouth. Hadn't he expected it, somewhere? Had it really come as a shock? Or was the fact that it didn't surprise him the real shock?

"You could have asked me for money..." Hendery said. "I... I even offered it."

"No," Xiaojun replied, shaking his head almost violently. "Don't make it about you now. I'm fed up. The entire world is already about you."

"Alright. Yeah... I'm sorry about that," Hendery said. Xiaojun looked surprised by that, though then nodded shortly.

"It was the easiest," he said. "So I just did it."

Hendery didn't know what to reply to that. Whatever insight he'd been given into Xiaojun's life had done nothing to clarify anything. He felt like he was looking into a darkened tunnel. He had no idea what was down there. He had no idea whether he was prepared to find out. But he knew he couldn't run away any longer. Or else Xiaojun would never become anything more than 'that boy' they didn't talk about at the dinner table. Hendery couldn't accept that.

"I think I'm not as brave as you," Hendery said. Xiaojun let out a strange noise at that, and then he chuckled. He fished in his pocket and retrieved a packet of cigarettes. Hendery tried not to feel disturbed by an image he thought he'd never see. "I'm serious." Instead of taking a cigarette from the pack, Xiaojun looked up at him, as if to verify whether he truly was serious.

"I don't feel very brave," Xiaojun said. "The fucking—" He fell silent, then grunted and looked away. Xiaojun never used to swear. It was one of those things that was hammered into them at home. It had taken some time for Xiaojun to learn his lesson. Hendery only now realised the implications of Xiaojun having been ten years old at the time.

"What were you going to say?"

"Doesn't matter. I want to go home, so... It hardly still matters. I tried, but... I can't do it anymore."

Hendery would have loved to hear him say that a year ago. He would have gotten up straight away and dragged him back home, but something was making that impossible to do. He couldn't move from his spot. His vision was blurring. Why was his vision blurring?

"Hendery?"

"Yeah, I..."

Xiaojun's fingers tightened around the packet of cigarettes, squeezing it slightly out of shape. "Just say it, then. Fucking say it. I can't come home."

"I don't know," Hendery said, feeling less and less like he served a purpose here at all. What had he come out here for? Why had he ever thought he had anything to offer Xiaojun?

"Are you crying?"

"No. No, no," Hendery said quickly. He wiped at his eyes, then forced himself to face Xiaojun. He didn't have a right to take this moment from him. Xiaojun lit a cigarette and put it between his lips to breathe in the smoke. He held his breath a moment, before he let it out.

Hendery watched the way the clouds of smoke disappeared into the air and he tried to ignore the smell. But the smell made sense and so did the light at the end of Xiaojun's cigarette and the way his fingers held on to it, and the way his lips closed around it, and the way he stared ahead at nothing at all.

"I think you understand something that I don't," Hendery spoke after some time.

"I don't think I understand anything at all."

***

Jeno threw the money down on the table. Taeyong was about to say something — his eyes having lit up at the sight of them — though then he looked down at the table and his expression darkened ever so slightly, though there was undeniably a part of him happy to see so much money. "That's all we managed to get for it," Jeno said. "Chenle was being dumb. Some of those bracelets we got were worth at least twice as much — the stones in them were massive — but you know, we can hardly go to the market with them, so this is what we got."

Taeyong stepped round the table and a moment later his arms were around Jeno, pulling him in for a hug. "I'm glad you're back," he said. He moved on to Jisung to do the same, and finally to Jaemin, who looked away when Taeyong looked him in the eyes. He still hadn't stopped thinking about how close they'd gotten to getting caught. In that case Taeyong would only have found out later, if they'd even managed to get it out to him at all. Jaemin wasn't sure why, but that thought hurt.

"You said you needed it," Jeno said, nodding towards the money.

"I didn't," Taeyong replied.

"Well, we were running out of cans, and when's the last time we've had anything other than potatoes?"

"Sorry," Taeyong said.

"Just take the money," Jeno said.

Taeyong reached to take the money from the table and had a quick look at it, probably making an estimate on how much it was. His eyes widened, but then he quickly put the money away in his pocket and turned to look at them. "I'm not going to say I'm not grateful, but please remember nothing is worth getting in trouble for. I'd rather struggle with the food than not have you here, alright? Losing one of you is more than enough. Don't let them take any of you, too."

"We're careful," Jeno replied, which had Jaemin's stomach twist uncomfortably. It wasn't like him to miss any details. Why had he been so distracted lately?

"Fucking Jesus," someone called out, before bursting into the warehouse. Jaemin turned around on his feet and was slightly surprised to see Jaehyun burst in through the door and slamming it shut behind him. Jaemin had heard about him having come back, but hadn't seen him yet. Jaehyun spent most of his time out somewhere, though Jaemin had no idea where he went. Whenever he asked, Jaehyun would always tell him not to worry about it, almost like he should.

"Hey," Jaemin said. Jaehyun's expression changed slightly from gloomy to surprise.

"Hey," he said. Jaemin wasn't sure whether to smile or not. Jaehyun's knuckles were dirty and bloody and he had a strange mark on his jaw.

Taeyong hurried towards him and gently grabbed hold of his chin to turn his face towards the light and take a closer look. "What happened?" he asked, though before Jaehyun had a chance to answer, Taeyong was already on his way to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.

"Nothing much," Jaehyun said with a shrug. He looked back at Jaemin. "You good?"

"Yeah," Jaemin replied, though nothing about the conversation felt natural.

"Let's have a drink later, okay?" Jaehyun said.

Jaemin nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Taeyong returned with a wet cloth and gently cleaned the blood of Jaehyun's face, being careful not to hurt him any more than was necessary. Jaehyun seemed to calm down from whatever mood he'd been in before, though the scorn didn't entirely disappear, as he huffed at Taeyong whenever he hurt him too much.

"Who was it?" Taeyong asked, after he was done and handed the towel over so Jaehyun could try to clean his knuckles with it.

"No one."

"It's never no one," Taeyong replied. "If you are in trouble, you better tell me."

"No," Jaehyun said, before pushing past Taeyong. "It was just some bastard, okay? Taeyong didn't look happy, but didn't ask on immediately. Jaehyun used that opportunity to motion for Jaemin to follow him. "Come, I'll get us some food too."

"With what money?" Taeyong asked, but Jaehyun was already on his way to the door at the back of the warehouse.

"We'll be back later tonight, alright?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. Jaemin quickly followed him out, though Taeyong's question continued to swarm in his mind.  _ With what money? _

The sun was hanging low in the sky and Jaemin quickly shut his coat to keep in some of his body heat. He didn't like the cold much, but it was no use complaining. He'd learned that after spending his first few weeks out here on the streets. Now he knew better than to expect anything else. Though he did hope they'd manage to collect a few more blankets before the nights grew even colder. He'd have to remember to ask Mark.

"What about that girl?" Jaemin asked. "Where's she?"

Jaehyun shrugged. "It didn't work out."

"Oh right... I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too..."

***

It wasn't hard to figure out why Yuta had ended up here with them, but Taeil knew better than to think everything happened at surface level. The truth was that not every gay guy raised by homophobic parents ended up on the streets. That was what had happened and that was why Yuta was here now, but it wasn't the whole story. Somehow Taeil wanted to find out what was.

The occurrence at the top of the stairs had told him something, but not much. The fact that Yuta had been scared couldn't exactly be said to be strange. He couldn't possibly have known Jaehyun wasn't dangerous. Jaehyun couldn't even have told him that and convinced him. Yuta was new to this, so he would have been stupid to believe him in the moment, and Taeil had already learned Yuta wasn't stupid.

Who he was, however, wasn't very obvious at all. Taeil had been watching him ever since he'd arrived — not in the creepy way — though there was much he couldn't figure out. Most of the times Yuta was withdrawn and quiet, but there were moments were he'd engage in conversations, sometimes even make a joke, and in those moments he'd look carefree and amused, like a completely different person to the one hiding in one of the corners of the room hoping not to be seen. Taeil wanted to find out which of those two was the truth, or whether they both were, but he couldn't just ask.

There'd been a time where he'd wanted to do this for a living. He wasn't sure what he meant with that. He'd wanted to help people and be there for them. Like a therapist or something. Or maybe not that — it sounded too serious and like you needed an expensive degree in order to become it — but something along those lines. He hated the idea that there were people who thought they were alone. Taeil didn't like the idea of anyone being fundamentally alone. He knew his own reasons for that, but they didn't matter right now. The whole point was that people spent too much time thinking about themselves and too little thinking about others and trying to help them.

Yuta had been silent for well over an hour now. The light was still burning in the room, but the electricity supply was so unsteady and minimal that it flickered occasionally and gave off an almost futile glow. At some point the letters on the page of the book he was reading became so hard to discern that he was forced to put his book aside. He made sure to shove it beneath his pillow.

Taeil knew by the sound of Yuta's breathing that he wasn't asleep. He'd probably been trying to get to sleep all this time, but not managed. Taeil wondered what was stopping him, though didn't feel like he could break the silence until he heard an audible hitch in Yuta's breathing.

"Hey, what's up?" Taeil asked, because he knew the answer to 'you okay?' was going to be 'yeah', and he'd learned to change the question when he wanted to do more than simply establish he was there in case his presence was wanted.

"I don't know..." Yuta replied after a long silence. Taeil didn't mind the silences much. They were usually a good thing.

"You really don't know?"

Another silence. "Not really... I keep thinking about home. And I have no idea what's going to happen now. I just didn't think that's what my life was going to look like."

"I think most people don't," Taeil said.

"I just keep wondering whether this'll be it from now on. And then I wonder why it matters when I didn't even want to go on at all," Yuta said. Taeil nodded, despite how Yuta was turned with his back to him and couldn't see it. Taeil wished he would know better what to say. He thought about it so much, but then when the time for it came his mind would draw a blank.

"I've been here a while, most of us have, and I don't think it's such a bad thing anymore. It's hard being here and I guess it'll get harder again at some point, but for the time being I don't really mind it so much."

"How did you all get here? I'm still confused about how this all happened." Yuta said. He pushed himself up in bed and turned to face Taeil. He pulled his blankets up in order to keep out the nightly cold that was starting to penetrate the warehouse a little more with every passing day.

"I wasn't the first," Taeil replied. "So I can't tell you exactly, but Taeyong and a few of the others met each other on the street. That was before this place. This place kind of made sure they didn't have to compete against the other groups on the street. By the time they found us we were with plenty, and Taeyong... I don't know... he kind of sorted it all for us." Not all of the people who had been here at first were still here, but Taeil would spare Yuta that detail. He wasn't even entirely sure of what had happened himself as Taeyong had never told him and the others knew only part of the story. Taeil sort of assumed one of the five who'd been here first was dead. He couldn't otherwise explain why the topic was unspeakable.

"Where does he get the money to take care of everyone?" Yuta asked.

"There hardly is any money," Taeil replied.

"There has to be money," Yuta stated and Taeil realised the topic of the conversation had changed. It was no longer about Yuta. Taeil looked down at his pillow for a moment.

"He's got savings," Taeil said, though there wasn't a whole lot he could tell Yuta about that either. Taeyong didn't talk about his past much. "But for the most part we all try our best to help out."

"I just..." Yuta started, frowning slightly. "This is so different to anything I've known. I don't know if I'll be any good at it. I think— I'm afraid I'll just be a burden."

"Don't worry about that," Taeil said.

"But I feel so useless," Yuta retorted.

"There's always plenty of stuff that needs to be done round here," Taeil said. "It's not all money, you know?"

Yuta thought about that for a second and then his frustration disappeared from his features. "Oh, right," he said. Taeil smiled a little. Yuta truly hadn't thought about this before, and something about that was endearing and part of the naive innocence that Taeil didn't get to see in most of them very often anymore.

"Your parents didn't keep a clean house, did they?" Taeil asked. Yuta looked up at him.

"No... No, they didn't really," Yuta replied.

Taeil chuckled softly. He'd figured that if Yuta's parents were traditional enough not to accept Yuta being gay, then they were likely also strict enough to give him chores to do around the house, unless they didn't keep a clean house. That actually said a lot. Perhaps Yuta had been scared of more than just Jaehyun when he'd been panicking at the top of the stairs the other night.

"How did they treat you?" Taeil asked.

"Pretty badly."

"Physically?"

"Yeah. Mostly he just hit my mum, but you know... it happened."

Taeil felt a sense of success at hearing Yuta say that, but far more strongly was a severe bitterness at the world. "Well, that's not going to happen again here."

"What about—"

"Jaehyun?" Taeil asked, because he had figured Yuta might bring him up. "He's gone through some shit. Drugs, girls, bad choices... but he's not going to hurt you."

"He looked pretty violent," Yuta said. Taeil noticed how his voice trembled slightly and he realised he was going to have to make sure Yuta understood he was safe here.

"He sort of is, but never to us. Taeyong is slightly different, because he gets too close and Jaehyun feels threatened by him, but also safe enough to do whatever he wants when he can't help it, so he hurts him sometimes, but never badly. Never ever badly. That's why we're glad he's back, because he's better to us than he is to other people."

"But I kind of am 'other people'," Yuta said.

"No," Taeil replied. "You'll see what I mean in time."


End file.
